Chapter Text
It's not really a surprise that they ended up together.
Bucky had been glued to him ever since they came out of that yellow hell hole, and Sam hadn't exactly been trying to be alone after all that, so they stuck together.
Everything had changed rapidly and irrevocably so, people they both knew and loved were gone, the world was and still is a post-apocalyptic mess, and they'd both lost just about everything while being dusted. And so, Sam thinks, they didn't mind the familiarity of each other all that much.
So when he purchased a property close to his family home in the quiet, serene lands of willows and creeks, Bucky came along.
At first, it was to help him move. Legit. No questions. And then he kept showing up every day after Sam was settled with a case of beer and a bag of chips to help him paint and renovate. Still legit. A little more obvious, but still legit.
They redid the hardwood, made it smooth and sleek, they painted the kitchen something called Robin Egg Blue and hung thin white curtains in the lounge so he could still bake in the midday sun when they're drawn. They laid grey marble over the plywood countertops and built a breakfast island, a fireplace, and a pizza oven.
Then one night, it had gotten late, and they ended up watching game shows on t.v in their paint-stained work clothes and laughing at each other's dumb answers. Sam cooked for them and set the table, and poured wine. And nothing about that was weird or uncomfortable or anything like that.
And well, Bucky couldn't exactly drive back to his own apartment after two bottles of red wine, so Sam gave him the spare room. The next night Bucky grilled fresh fish Sam's brother sent over, and they bickered about the Giants and the Saints, and they had too much wine again, so Bucky didn't drive that night either.
Only this time, instead of heading to bed, Bucky dusted off the vintage record player and carefully placed a vinyl on, and soon the house was filled with The Supremes' voices. Naturally, after the amount of wine they consumed, dancing ensued, and Bucky had Sam spinning all over the new hardwoods in his socks.
He remembers Bucky's hand in his, his grip so tight when he twirled Sam outward, the smile on his face and the way it made his eyes narrow and made Sam's stomach all tight and knotty.
That was the night.
They took turns in the shower later, still talking—Bucky under the sprays and Sam getting dressed in the room—about last night's game and Michelle Obama, and how bananas ain't the same as it was before the great depression.
And it occurred to Sam then that these moments between them are like snaps of a marriage between two old souls. It occurred to Sam when Bucky stepped out of the bathroom dripping wet and steaming still, that he wanted this deeply and without a doubt.
He wanted Bucky , like this- naked in his bedroom and his kitchen and living room and on his front porch in the mornings. In his house. Close to him. Always.
A funny thing happened to Bucky's face then, as Sam's eyes traveled his body. He put the towel down and took a step forward.
Then, without a word, they both surged forward and kissed each other.
That was it, really. At some point, with Bucky's mouth around his dick, Sam told him to sell his apartment in the city and move in, and Bucky's hum vibrated right down to his balls while Baby Love played downstairs.
And now they're in it while they help put the world back together. And this thing between them is deep; it has rooted itself within Sam in a way he's yet to understand. It has flourished namelessly and passionately and bright.
If Sam thinks about it too hard, his brain might implode; it's easier to let it be, to let every day happen around them while they happen to each other. Sometimes it's more than Sam can stand to be so consumed and overwhelmed with emotion for someone.
"My ma said if you make a face like that and the wind blows, it'll stay that way."
Sam swivels around on the porch to see Bucky sleep-ruffled and puffy-faced in the doorway, wearing nothing but his navy, untied robe and lighting a cigarette.
"When the bell rings." Sam corrects and gets his phone out to take a picture of him. For future use.
Bucky squints and comes to stand beside him, "The what now?"
"The thing your ma said. It's not the wind. It's the bell. Why are you still naked?" Sam leans in for a kiss and tucks himself close to Bucky's side, circling an arm around his bare waist.
Buck takes a long draw of smoke and exhales. He lifts his arm, so Sam is winged in. "Thought I'd get lucky down here but—" he then looks down at Sam already suited up and ready for work and makes a face.
"Jesus Christ, Buchanan." Sam pulls away from the warmth of Bucky's body and gets his shield off the hook by the door. "Let a man rest, huh? Twice wasn't enough at three goddamn a.m? I am just a man."
Bucky snorts out a laugh as Sam sprints toward the little carport where their bikes are parked. "A delicious man. See you at work!"
"At work! Don't be late."
He hears Bucky's flat and airy, "Yes, Captain!" as he drives off.
At headquarters, no one knows about them. In fact, not many people do. Sam's family and Steve, to be specific.
It's a fun little secret they keep; it's something only the two of them revel in. And before they even started this thing, they agreed it wasn't something anyone needed to know.
Here they're just Sam and Bucky; they're colleagues who are also roommates and kind of get along. It's been fun keeping it up. There's a delicious thrill in hiding it, as well as a particular, terrifying fear they both share.
"Man," Sam says, managing to sound thoroughly annoyed, "Why do I keep getting teamed with this guy?"
Bucky's sitting across the boardroom table from Sam, busy on his phone. He has that dark, brooding, murderous scowl on his face that intimidates everyone except Sam. Sam's kind of getting hard looking at him. He fantasizes about laying himself out on the table for the Winter Soldier, maybe even bending him over and going at it.
"You're Cap and Bucky. It's a thing. We like to feed the nostalgia," Hill says.
"Also, you work like a unit." Sharon chimes in, "Shield's rescue rate's gone up by 20% since you guys teamed up." She's already punching coordinates into their GPS for the mission.
"Well, I guess." Sam rolls his eyes and starts going through the briefing file. Then he says to Bucky, "Oh hey, we gotta drive there in a sedan. You think you can manage not ripping the steering wheel out of it?"
"—rip something else off," Bucky mumbles. But under the table, Sam's phone vibrates; it's a message from Bucky. Like your clothes off your body and eat you out on this table.
Sam bites back a laugh, but there's an exciting spark dancing up his spine. He texts back, And what about them?
Fuck it, let 'em watch
Nasty.
Sam looks up and sees the tiniest smile trying to break through Bucky's bullshit façade.
"Well, alright, boys. Off you go. Bring him in alive." Maria looks at them, her one eyebrow up as if they'd do anything but follow orders.
Bucky gets up then, "The last guy was alive."
Sharon's face is properly deadpan. She was responsible for briefing and engaging the last mission, and it really didn't go her way.
"He is in a coma," she says.
"He's a nazi," Sam says.
And everyone gives a concurring nod-shrug before vacating the room.
This specific cartel they're looking for is real good at hiding, so they wait them out.
It's pretty boring, and the sun is blistering hot on their backs, and the traffic blares down below.
"So. Two vultures were in the desert eating a dead clown," Sam says. On the opposite rooftop, he sees Bucky shaking his head. "The first vulture asks the second vulture: 'Does this taste funny to you?'"
Sharon snorts out loud and slaps her hand over her mouth, so she doesn't give away her position. Daisy smiles and purses her lips where she's perched on the ledge beside Sam.
"Get it? Because the clown—"
"Yes, baby. Yeah, we got it," Bucky says, quietly fond and a little exasperated.
Sam doesn't register the slipped endearment straight away; they've been joking around all day, so his guard's not exactly up.
But then Daisy says, "Baby? Did he say baby?"
"Who said baby? To who?" Sharon looks over from the second-story window.
Bucky has an instant look of terror on his face, almost pale, "No one said baby."
"Bucky! To Captain America!" Daisy looks at Sam with this utterly incredulous expression.
Sam shakes his head, "Y'all must be on something. No one said baby. Now shut up and get back to work."
Sam turns to glare at Daisy. She's just looking at him with her eyebrows high and a look that says she's not buying his bullshit at all.
"No one said baby!" he hisses at her, feels the heat curl up his neck.
"Sure, Cap." she straightens up, taps her comms, and starts up a tremor between her fingers, "I'm checking the west perimeter for activity." and then she drops off the side of the building.
Sam switches his comms to mute and tunes into Bucky's channel.
"Jesus Barnes. Drop the line, then press one. If you press one first, then drop the line, the whole neighborhood's gonna know our dirty laundry."
"I'd dirty some laundry with you anytime," Bucky says, sweet and sticky like syrup. This idiot.
"Lemme come over to your roof, show those pigeons a thing or two," Sam says, and far in the distance, he can see Bucky laugh.
"You're awful. You know that?—Oh!" Bucky flips the comms back on "—perp at ten o'clock!"
He sees Bucky launch off the roof, scaling down the brick face to the street. Sam spreads his wings and follows.
And Sharon, as she's sprinting down the stairs, says, "Did baby say 10 o'clock?" which makes Daisy cackle out loud as she pins the perp to a wall with her weird hand vibrations.
"Cap is baby, remember," she says just as the suspect's friends arrive and a gunfight breaks out.
Sharon shoots someone in the kneecap and elbows another dude in the nose.
"Oh, right! Hey, Cap, what'd you call Bucky?"
Sam rolls his eyes, and lucky for him, he's too far up in the sky for them to see the faltering guilty look on his face.
"I call him a pain in my ass."
The other two laugh in a way that doesn't sound like they're too suspicious. Maybe they'll think Bucky really just slipped up, that there's no deeper meaning behind it. Like how you'd sometimes fuck up and call your teacher 'mom' when you were a kid. Maybe they'll assume they heard it wrong and never think about it again.
Still, Sam's heart pounds with how close that was.
Sam hangs around in an empty boardroom while Bucky gives mission debrief upstairs, figuring he might as well wait for Bucky to finish up and meet him on the way down for lunch.
Only, his boredom combined with thoughts of Buck... it's a fatal, disastrous mix. He ends up nursing a semi while scrolling through his camera roll. There's that one picture he took of Bucky standing on the front porch smoking in only a robe. And gah…
Sam squeezes his legs together and decides fuck it.
"Redwing, deactivate cameras in this boardroom."
The little A.I beeps, and soon the red flickering lights in the corners die out.
Sam checks that the glass is frosted, then cups his hand over the bulge in his pants, aims the phone at it, and sends it to Buck.
The reply is almost instant.
SAM...
Sam laughs, bites his lip, and after another glance around the room, in which he's still alone, he pulls the zipper down so the little wet spot on his grey boxers and straining dick show. He takes another photo and sends it.
Oh my gopskdkd
*god
He replies: I'm bored. What you doing?
Right now?
Trying to hide my boner under the table and keep eye contact with Hill.
What are YOU doing?!
Sam decides to show him. He frees his dick, grips it around the base, and then pushes it down a little to get a good angle. But the light's all wrong, so he turns to the window, kicks the blinds open a notch, and gets a perfect streak of midday rays bathing his skin in golden light. He sends it with an angel emoji.
Bucky sends Ooooof
Now that's a dick honey
Sam laughs, Oooof? what are you? a millennial?
Look at this one
The next one he sends there's a sticky rope of precome suspended between his finger and dick's tip, glinting in the sun like a string of pearls.
Jesus Sam. moaned out loud what the fuck holy shit god i want that
Now.
All day
Fuck
More?
Sam laughs, chest warm with delight, and of course, he obliges. He starts jerking himself with slow and languid rolls of his fist, once twice, then squeezes around the tip while taking a video.
The typing dots seem like they're speeding, and his phone vibrates a second later.
Wehere
Are tou
This time Sam cackles out loud in the empty boardroom. Bucky sends a frantic string of question marks as Sam starts typing.
East boardroom, 5th floor.
No reply comes, but the anticipation buzzes through him like liquid electricity, and when the door handle cracks down, there's only a brief flash of panic before he sees Bucky's face.
Sam gets up and rushes over, and in the same breath, Bucky starts undoing his belt and fly and meets Sam halfway.
"Anyone see you?"
"Nope"
Their lips meet hard and rushed, all tongues and nipping teeth and warm mouths sliding together. Bucky pushes his pants down and guides Sam back toward the table where he bends over.
Sam moves to lock the door, but Bucky grabs his arm, "Don't." He grins like the actual devil, sharp and dirty and somehow so convincing that Sam doesn't think twice about it.
He slides himself in behind Bucky and dips two fingers into his ass. He's still loose from the night before, or he played around without Sam, but he's good to go, so Sam leans down, licks, and gets him nice and wet.
Bucky's hands scampers around for purchase the moment Sam's mouth makes contact, and then he gasps out a moan at the absence when Sam leans up again, but that moan turns into a breathless whine when Sam finally slides inside up to his base.
They breathe hard and rapid, both of them, high and ready and aching for it, on the verge of getting caught. And so the only option is fucking faster than anyone on the way to this boardroom.
Sam starts hitting home, not hard but quick, smooth and deep, his hands digging into the meaty parts of Bucky's hips. He sees Bucky reach down to jerk off and knows it won't be much longer now.
So he watches. He watches Buck's hand move, his cheek pressed against the polished wood, his mouth slack and wet, his eyes fluttering, rolling, a quiet "Yes" escaping his lips.
And he feels. He feels the tight heat of Bucky's body swallowing him up, dragging him in and out and closer to the edge. He feels the clenching, helplessly awed ache in his chest. And he thinks I love him. I love him so fucking much.
At that, he makes a strangled sound and comes, hard and dizzying, shaking, pushing and pushing 'till the last drop and finally watches Bucky come off too in much the same euphoric shuddering.
"Fuck sakes." Sam collapses on Bucky's back, easing his cock out.
Bucky's still catching his breath, his cheeks now a pale pink. "You can say that again." He gets up, forcing them both to stand.
And, once they're both tucked back in their pants, Bucky brings himself closer to Sam and swings an arm around his neck, then kisses him.
"You kill me, Wilson." He says a moment later. "You fuckin' kill me."
Sam nuzzles his nose against Bucky's, breathes him in, and says in a slow sigh, "You know what kills me?"
And Barnes says, "Hm?" with his eyes shut and a cute little grin on his face.
"The fact that it's three p.m and I haven't even had lunch."
"Aaaaand the moment's gone."
Bucky slaps Sam's ass, pecks his lips once more, "C'mon, I'll buy you a fucking T-bone, babydoll."
And yeah. Sam loves him stupid much.